It was on the first day of summer vacation that Poppy found out she was going to die. It happened on Monday, the first real day of vacation (the weekend didn't count). Poppy woke up feeling gloriously weightless and thought, No school. Sunlight was streaming in the window, turning the sheer hangings around her bed filmy gold. Poppy pushed them aside and jumped out of bed and winced. Ouch. That pain in her stomach again.-Sort of a gnawing, as if something were eating its way toward her back. It helped a little if she bent over. No, Poppy thought. I refuse to be sick during summer vacation. I refuse. A little power of positive thinking is what's needed here. Grimly, doubled over-think positive, idiot!-she made her way down the hall to the turquoise-and gold-tiled bathroom. At first she thought she was going to throw up, but then the pain eased as suddenly as it had come. Poppy straightened and regarded her tousled reflection triumphantly. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be fine," she whispered to it, and gave a conspiratorial wink. Then she leaned forward, seeing her own green eyes narrow in suspicion. There on her nose were four freckles. Four anda half, if she were completely honest, which Poppy North usually was. How childish, how-cute! Poppy stuck her tongue out at herself